Date? Isn't that a dried up piece of fruit…?
by Rae666
Summary: John has a date and Sherlock has decided he wants to know what is so fascinating about these dates that people waste their time on them. Humour/Crack


**Date? Isn't that a dried up piece of fruit…?**

_Summary: John has a date and Sherlock has decided he wants to know what is so fascinating about these dates that people waste their time on them. Humour/Crack_

_Warning: Mild spoilers for The Great Game_

_Disclaimer: Not lucky enough to own the show or characters… no matter how much I wish._

_A/N: Too much sugar, not enough sleep, complete insanity? I'm not sure which… maybe a combination of all three. But, this wouldn't leave me alone until I'd wrote it._

_Dating… it's complicated._

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><p>John had a date.<p>

It had been three months and seventeen days since the incident at the pool which meant it had been three months and elev-no, twelve days since he and Sarah had broken up. A mutual agreement to remain just friends (she couldn't handle much more than that and John didn't blame her). Consequently, John didn't even want to think about how long it had been since he had gotten off with _anyone_.

"Right, I'm off out," he called, pulling on his jacket and shooting Sherlock a quick glance.

The dark-haired man frowned, looking up from the book in his hands to regard John. His expression clearly said he couldn't understand why John would want to go anywhere that wasn't the flat. "What? Where?"

"I've got a date, Sherlock," John explained, adjusting his collar and sleeves as he raised an eyebrow at the man before him.

"A date? With _who_?" It was said so accusingly that really, John should have been offended but he had given up being offended when it came to Sherlock – most of the time anyway.

"Jenny," he answered, and because he knew Sherlock would ask, "from Scotland Yard. Remember? The blond with the pretty smile."

Sherlock's gaze moved away slightly and it was another moment before the light went off behind his eyes and he scrunched up his face in… not quite disgust, John reasoned, but it certainly wasn't pleasant. The detective shook his head, dismissive, and turned back to his book. "She's not your type."

"Not my type?" Incredulous didn't even begin to describe how John was feeling. "And just what _is_ my type, Sherlock? As you seem to be all-knowing on the subject."

"Well, I would say that your type _isn't_ a giggling schoolgirl. But then, I could be wrong."

"Schoolgirl? She's _twenty-seven_!"

"Twenty-four."

"Twe-what? What do you mean twenty-four?"

"You truly are hopeless, John." Sherlock shook his head. "She lied to make you feel more comfortable about the age gap."

And John just couldn't be bothered to argue anymore. Twenty-four or twenty-seven – what did it matter? She was nice, appeared to like him and it was just a date. A date he would be late for if he didn't set off right there and then.

"Honestly, I don't know why you waste your time with these _dates_," Sherlock interrupted his thoughts, stopping him midway to the door.

"No," John answered, glancing at his watching and growing increasingly irritable, "I don't suppose you would."

"If the whole point is sex, why not just get it over with and then be on your way?" And Sherlock was still talking to him. _Why was Sherlock still talking to him?_

"It's not _all_ about sex," John tried to disagree but he was interrupted yet again.

Sherlock snapped his book shut and placed it on the table beside him. He locked his fingers together and leaned forward in the chair, chin resting gently atop his hands. "Let me come."

John's mind went blank, his mouth fell open and he thought for a moment that perhaps he had excess wax in his ears because he couldn't have just heard that right. "I'm sorry? Let you come?"

"Yes," Sherlock confirmed. "Let me come. I wish to _observe_ this date."

"Sherlock, I'm not-" He took a breath. In… Out… Much calmer. "Sherlock, I'm not letting you come on my date with me. That's not how it works."

"I merely want to observe…"

"Then 'observe' someone else!"

"Nonsense. The timing is perfect. I wish to know more about 'dates' and you just happen to be going on one." Sherlock pushed up from his seat and span on the spot, apparently searching for something. "Now, where did I put my scarf?"

John practically ran out of the door.

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><p>He doubled back on himself twice, took three back alleys and even attempted to lose Sherlock by slipping through a busy car park – ducking, dodging, weaving and sneaking about. All his paranoia earned him were several strange looks and hushed whispers. After all, he should have known that by the time he reached the restaurant – ten minutes late – Sherlock would already be there. Talking to Jenny.<p>

That was the last time he chose the destination.

After striding past Sherlock, blatantly ignoring the man, and ushering a bewildered Jenny into the restaurant, they sat at their table for two – no, thank you, they did _not_ need a third seat – with a candle in the centre. Menus in their hands, John tried not to acknowledge the fact that Sherlock was moments away from being seated directly behind him.

"He's nothing at all like the rumours," Jenny said, breaking the silence, all wide eyed and innocent and oh, God, Sherlock was right – she was definitely younger than she had claimed.

"You have no idea," John grumbled in reply, trying as hard as he could to brush away thoughts of Sherlock intruding on his date. He looked up from the menu and tried for a smile. "So…"

She smiled back and giggled. Yes, she giggled – a schoolgirl giggle that had John picturing her in pigtails and braces, freckles littering her nose and cheeks. Damn Sherlock!

"So…" she repeated, bringing him sharply back to the restaurant where she was most definitely not wearing pigtails. "You're a doctor."

"Yes, yes I am." And he grinned. Conversation. Yes, this was how dates were meant to go.

"One of the best in his field," Sherlock interrupted and no, no, no… this was _not_ happening.

Jenny's eyes lit up all the same though, undeterred. "Oh really?"

Maybe it wasn't ruined yet. "Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say-"

But he was cut short.

"Don't be so modest, John. I thought the point was to sell yourself, like at a job interview."

And John's head very nearly collided with the table. He only just managed to rein in the dramatics, the smile on his face becoming forced and the glint in his eyes becoming murderous.

He held up a forefinger to Jenny. "If you just give me one moment."

And before she could answer, he turned in his seat so he was leaning over the back and glaring at Sherlock – who was a lot closer than John had expected. Personal space, another conversation he was going to have to have with the man. He dropped his voice to a harsh whisper, a near growl. "You said _observe_, Sherlock. This is _not_ observing. This is partaking."

Sherlock smiled, thin lipped and silent. He nodded his head once and John took that to mean the detective understood. Oh God, he hoped that meant he understood.

He took a breath – calm, nice and calm – and turned back to Jenny. "Would you like a starter?" he asked, clearing his throat a little and allowing his eyes to drop to the menu.

"The Soupe au Pistou is particularly nice in-"

"Sherlock!"

There was a clattering of cutlery and plates just off to their right but John ignored it. His cheeks were flushed red enough without him turning to see people staring at the scene. He barely managed to raise his eyes to meet Jenny's, her expression sheepish.

"How about I go powder my nose?" she suggested, already making to stand up. "I need to freshen up anyway…"

She didn't quite skitter away but John could already feel his chest aching at the knowledge that her movements were definitely hurried. But maybe, just maybe, the night wouldn't be a complete waste.

"Did I say something wrong?" Sherlock questioned, with all the innocence of a child that just really didn't understand.

John turned to face him yet again. "No, Sherlock. You didn't _say_ anything wrong but you shouldn't be _saying_ anything in the first place."

"I was merely suggesting-"

"Yes, Sherlock. _Yes_. I know what you were suggesting and it was very kind of you. Now if you don't mind… I would really like to enjoy my date in peace. Without interruptions of any kind."

"And you would prefer for me not to be present." It was phrased so very similar to a question but it was most definitely a statement, clear and simple. And yes, by God, yes, that was exactly what John would prefer.

But John couldn't bring himself to say so out loud.

"Then perhaps now is not the best time for me to gain knowledge of this 'dating' concept."

"You think?" John replied before he could stop the words slipping from his tongue.

Sherlock didn't meet his eye. He was too busy staring out of the window and out into the street beyond. It wasn't until he spoke again that John understood why. "Tell me, John – on dates, is it customary for the woman to leave before the food arrives?"

"Is it… what?" And John swung his head around to stare at the retreating blond with the pretty smile as she hailed a taxi. John couldn't bring himself to be surprised.

"I believe your date escaped through the bathroom window if the rip in her tights and the tissue stuck to the bottom of her heel are anything to go by."

"Yes, thank you for that great deduction." And this time, John allowed his head to hit the table.

He heard the sound of scraping chairs and cardboard being lifted and straightened out. When he raised his head, Sherlock had taken Jenny's seat and was looking over the menu. "Hungry?"

John could only sigh, staring down at his own menu. "Starving."

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><p><em>Thanks for reading!<em>


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